Yorkshire Vignettes
by austenfan1990
Summary: Starting in 1963, a couple of vignettes detailing Alan and Celia's lives and their thoughts about each other until their meeting in the first series of 'Last Tango in Halifax'. Contains some spoilers from Series 2.
1. 1963 - Alan

**Yorkshire Vignettes**

by austenfan1990

**A/N: **My first _Last Tango_ fanfic, so I do apologise in advance if it's wildly out of character. Alan and Celia are definitely not mine and belong to the combined geniuses of Sally Wainwright, Sir Derek Jacobi and Anne Reid.

* * *

**1963 – Alan**

Alan Buttershaw seemed to have made his way in the world. Not anything grand, of course, but in his own modest way. Twelve years after starting at Jessops, he had become manager at the local store in Elland. An achievement for the likes of him who left school at sixteen and hadn't been up to university as was the fashion these days. His mum and dad were proud of him, especially when he wasn't as outgoing and boisterous as his younger brother Ted who was still proving a handful. There was talk of him even immigrating to Australia of all places; 'I'll believe it when I see it!' said Alan when Ted had come in from work one day and announced his plans. He was an assistant to one of the sheep farmers up north and being the more robust of the two brothers, it was like him to be more than willing to accede to a little adventure.

'Why go all the way to Australia when you can make yourself a living here in Yorkshire?' asked Alan one night when they were down at the local pub and when he realised that this wasn't merely another of Ted's whimsical fancies.

'Because there's a future there, you dozy bugger,' replied Ted, matter-of-factly.

'Well, isn't there a future here in England? I mean, Australia isn't just down road, you know. It's halfway 'cross the world.'

'I don't mean to say I'm going off this minute. Oh aye, sheep farming's all right in Yorkshire at the moment but that don't mean to say that it'll last forever. Look at the coal mines, Alan. One day, I'm telling you, those miners will be out of work.'

'But this is Yorkshire, not Durham or South Wales, lad. And when have you ever been interested in mining?'

'Not to beat about the bush but I have done a bit of coal mining meself, just so you know. Just don't tell mum and dad about that.'

'Well, I never,' murmured Alan, taking a sip of his pint. 'You definitely haven't lost the knack to surprise, Ted.'

'And I bloody hope I never do.'

Alan looked into his brother's face and noted, not for the first time, that it seemed to be carved of tougher stuff than his. Whereas he looked kindly and gentle with an air of vulnerability which seemed to draw all sorts of womanly attention to him – whether it was motherly or otherwise – Ted Buttershaw looked like the sort of fellow who won the Battle of Britain with his dark eyes, strong jaw and his overall impression of confidence and determination. He was half-surprised that Ted never enlisted in the armed forces, even after their two-year stints in National Service. 'Churchill would have loved him,' murmured their mum as she saw him off on his first day and wearing his khaki uniform. Alan had to admit that Ted looked a great deal better than he did in army togs. And if memory served him correctly, he also came across Ted's photo in the enlistment brochures on his way to work one summer. Aye, there was no need to fret over his younger brother since he was certainly going places in the world.

In a way, he envied Ted. He could never imagine himself uprooting himself on a whim and dashing off to the other side of the world. No, life was too comfortable at the moment for that. At the age of twenty-eight, he was settled, had a happy married life and not two months ago, had welcomed a newborn daughter, Gillian. Even venturing outside of Yorkshire for the odd business trip to London seemed daring and adventurous.

But he hadn't always been so wary and it was at times like these when he listened to his brother's talk about sheep farming on a farm in Australia, he remembered a more carefree lad who had often been out in the evening jiving down at the town hall. Eileen had always been there, nearly always claiming the first dance but no one but Celia Armitage had set his heart racing when it came to dancing with the girls. They had never gone out together though they had been on trips and things with the rest of their friends and she had often encouraged him to be more daring, more confident. Perhaps it was an aura she had around her for he saw other shy lads like himself not lacking in confidence when she was around. And sometimes, even twelve years after being stood up, he wondered whether she had felt the same way as he did about her.

'"Now heaven walks on earth."'

'Eh, what's that you say?' Ted was looking at him in bemusement.

'Oh, nothing,' said Alan quickly, hiding his embarrassment by taking other sip of beer. 'Nothing.'

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**Notes:** Dates given are, of course, estimates and based on the information given in Sally Wainwright's screenplay for the first episode of the first series which you can find on the BBC's 'Writersroom' Script Library. In that, she gives both Alan and Celia's age as seventy-four and mentions that Alan was sixteen in 1951 when they last met. Thus they were both born in around 1935.


	2. 1963 - Celia

**Yorkshire Vignettes**

**1963 – Celia**

'Now, Celia. Everything is going to be quite all right. We can work this out,' came Kenneth's voice on the telephone.

Celia's first instinct was to say, 'You lying sod.' Then she realised she wasn't bothered and hung up on him instead. It had been two months since Caroline's birth – and her near brush with death – and now she was meant to be recovering. But she was damned if she could relax now that she realised that while she was in hospital and giving birth to their daughter, he was off somewhere sleeping with another woman.

It hadn't taken long for Celia to recognise that her marriage to Kenneth had been a mistake. Three months after the wedding, she had understood far too late what sort of man he was. It wasn't as if he was bad-tempered or abusive. Kenneth Dawson was none of those things but his greatest failing that he knew all too well that he was attractive to women and made no attempt to dissuade them from approaching and seducing him. Not that it was all one-sided for he had made his conquests too. A real _Don Juan_, she thought. At first, she thought it was merely him being unused to being a married man and that in time, he'd settle down. It took four years of marriage before Caroline entered the world and even he had to muck her birth up.

Poor Caroline, thought Celia.

She didn't dare say, 'Poor me', for after all, she had wanted to be married to him. Dazzled, she had been, by his university degree and his prospects. She wanted a nice house with a garden and a car and now she had them. Her parents – who had none of these things – were over the moon, of course. And yet, she had never been more miserable in her life. Most of all, it was guilt she was feeling for Caroline because, really, a mother should be anything but miserable at a time like this.

Loneliness was also something she was experiencing for she had no one to talk to. She could hardly tell her mother for she would be shocked and appalled and speaking to her sister Muriel was out of the question. She simply would have blabbered on to their mother and then the cat would have been out of the bag. She sighed. She was being unfair to Muriel too but she couldn't help it. It wasn't that she was a bad sort but ever since Muriel had gone off with Frank, Celia's relationship with her only sister had soured. Other than the obligatory birthday and Christmas greetings, they never spoke nowadays. However, even Muriel's presence would have been a comfort now.

And it was in desperately unhappy times such as these that her thoughts strayed to Alan Buttershaw. Names and faces of old schoolmates came and went but to her surprise, she always remembered Alan. It wasn't really a surprise actually, she admitted. Call it what you will, either an adolescent crush or a schoolgirl's fancy, but she had truly been in love with him. She used to watch him from her parent's sitting room window as he passed by in the street, secretly half-hoping that he'd turn round but he never did for his mates – now what were their names again? Barry? Harry? And ah yes, Maurice – were inevitably close by.

If she had a memory in which she was truly happy, it was when he had finally asked her out. And if someone had asked her which memory made her feel otherwise, she would have said the same. It was a bittersweet memory and if she could help it, she avoided recalling it to mind. For on the one hand, it had been a triumph of sorts. After months, perhaps years of waiting, he had asked her out and she could hardly believe it. It was what happened afterwards that saddened her, or rather what didn't happen, because they never did go out and Alan had never replied to the letter she had left with Eileen Pickford.

He had probably been angry with her for breaking off their date. She could very well understand that but she would have guessed that his anger would have abated after a while. Alan, after all, was a gentle soul and she couldn't imagine him being cross for long. Of course, she could have written to him but it was the uncertainty and the fear of a cold reception that finally put her off. And by then, Kenneth had entered her world and by God how she wished that she hadn't been so easily mesmerised by him now.

'Oh, Alan,' she sighed wistfully. 'I do wish you had written. Or I did in spite of everything.'

The telephone rang again and Caroline gave a cry from the other room. Resolutely ignoring the telephone, Celia went to tend to her daughter.


End file.
